“So damn true,” he said, with a groan and a chuckle. He headed toward his apartment, then put on a small pot of coffee. It seemed like all he was doing was drinking alcohol and coffee. He brought out his laptop and checked his accounts and his projects. So far, everything was reasonably on target. That always made him suspicious as hell. He turned his phone back on and had missed several phone calls. They were all from the same number. He snorted.
“Tough shit, not everybody is on your time frame,” he snapped. Just then, the phone rang again. He figured it was her. “What?”
“Did you try?” his ex said, in a trembling and tearful voice.
Shit, this was the last thing he needed. “I’ve tried, and I’ve tried,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t had any luck.”
“You know you could if you wanted to,” she said.
“If it was that damn easy,” he said, “I wouldn’t have been dealing with all this shit, now would I? It would already be solved.”
“Would it?” she asked. “Or would you still be trying to avoid it all?”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he said. “I’m sorry this is happening, but I don’t know anything.”
He hung up on her, so frustrated because, if he did know something at this point, he would say so, even if just to get rid of Caitlin. No, that wasn’t true at all; he would do it to help Leonard. That was the right thing to do, and, when he could, he would always help children. Hell, some of his real estate projects were geared toward helping single women and children who had no money. But it was all just such a crapshoot. He sat outside on the small deck and called out to his grandmother.
“You could have warned me,” he said. Of course there would be no answer; his grandmother had no cares at this point. In a situation like this, he would do a lot to help. Anybody who thought otherwise didn’t know who he was at all. And that was the problem because he’d practiced that whole isolation thing for a lifetime. When his phone rang again, he looked down at it, and this time it was the detective. “What?” he snapped irritably.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?” he said. “I’m sitting in my damn apartment, looking out at the city and wishing to hell all of you people would just leave me alone.”
“Listen. The numbers you sent me were the password to the online chat for these ugly little pedophile pukes. So why would I ever leave you alone?”
“It was?” He bolted to his feet. “Jesus, did you get something decent?”
“Well, I got something sick,” she said, and her tone revealed the depression and the disgust at whatever she’d found.
“Yes, but did it help?”
“We’re hoping so, but, of course, we didn’t get real names or anything. But we’re trying to track them down and find locations.”
“And what about children?”
She hesitated, and then her voice broke into the softest of whispers and said, “Yes, an online transaction is happening right now with one little girl.”
“Oh, shit,” he said. “How old?”
“Five, and she’s been in the system for a couple years.”
“Oh God,” he said. “Can you find her?”
“We’re working on it,” she said. “If you get anything else, let me know.”
*
Monday, Late Afternoon
Still pissed fromFriday’s excursion to Nico’s house in Richmond being interrupted by the cops, he returned to Nico’s the following Monday, late in the day, wanting cover of darkness, cussing the whole trip, but watching for cop cars. At least he had scoped out the exterior the first time here. So, deciding to jump the neighbor’s fence, he quickly hopped the shared side fence, wincing as his bones rattled all the way down to the jarring landing on the other side. He wasn’t anywhere as agile as he used to be. Life hadn’t been all that easy on him either. He’d also aged a lot faster than many of his peers had. Prison would do that to a person.
He snuck up to the side of Nico’s house and just stood here, waiting for something,… for anything really. When he couldn’t hear anything inside or out, he crept down the house, closer to where he thought the kitchen might be, so he could peer inside. No light was on except for one over the stove, sending out a warm glow across the kitchen. He snorted at that. It was such a high-end kitchen that it made him sick. He used to live in a house like this. Had grown up in a house like this.
He swept around the corner to the back-porch door and, with a gentle hand, reached out and twisted it. It opened easily enough. No alarm went off, at least not an audible alarm. He studied the back side of the house, looking for video cameras, sensors or the like, but found nothing. With the door cracked open ever-so-slightly, he pushed it open another few inches, and, when still no alarm was raised from inside or out, he slipped into the kitchen and let the door close silently behind him.
“Now,” he whispered to himself, “where is she?”
He went through the whole main floor and hadn’t found anyone yet. He didn’t know if Nico was even here. He had found some mail in the kitchen that had Nico’s name on it. He quickly took photographs of several places around the house. He didn’t dare stay too long, in case Nico came back. So far, he hadn’t found what he was looking for. He may have to come back for a third trip this way, but it would be faster now because he knew the layout.